The 12 Webs of Christmas
by Spawn Guy
Summary: The holidays can be murder
1. Day 1

_On the 1__st__ day of Christmas, my true love gave to me_

_Electro on a crime spree_

Spider-Man groaned as he pulled himself out of the snow bank. Behind him the sound of grinding metal and colliding cars stopped. The sound of blaring horns didn't, and naturally that was the one that made his head hurt.

"One job! Just one little bank job! Was that too much to ask!?"

Cash mingled with the falling snow as a star that was doing anything other than wondering flared above him. A snarling Max Dillon hovered in the air, clinging to the torn overnight bag vomiting about a thousand grand per second, biting moisture evaporating off his constantly flexing aura.

"Bad little boys who break parole don't get to go on the nice list, Electro."

His hand slipped on the ice as he was trying to get up, and that was the one reason the lightning bolt caught him in the shoulder and sent him tumbling across the street, through the storefront window, and into the heap of overdressed mannequins.

Electro levelled crackling hands at him as he fought to untangle himself from between a predominantly female mannequin's legs, then hesitated at the sound of approaching sirens.

"Screw it! I'm outta here!"

Spidey exploded out of the tangle just in time to fire a single hopeless webline, which missed, and watch the fading static trails dance as Electro thunder bolted off the ground and vanish among the snow flakes and grey sunlight.

"Great…"


	2. Day 2

_On the 2nd__ day of Christmas, my true love gave to me_

_Two waiting journalists_

Robbie Robertson rolled the pipe appreciatively between his fingers, savouring the smell of still fresh wood and the rustle of unwrapped paper.

"Tell Mary Jane and your aunt thanks very much for the new custom job Peter, but I promised Marsha I'd cut back for Lent last year and I'm still trying to stick to it."

Peter's eyes and the corners of his mouth crinkled as he held in a mock wince.

"Ouch."

"My idea actually."

"For real?" Peter blinked.

"Watch it." Robbie said, but he was smiling when he said it. Jameson, on the other hand, wasn't.

"PARKER!"

Peter became a blur that snapped out of the chair and stood to instant attention.

"Sir, yes sir!"

"I don't pay you to distract my editor-in-chief like he found the murdered body of Carmine Electra in the back of his car!"

"Sir, no sir!" Peter saluted. His nostrils were shutting down from the pinching aftershave of newsprint, ink and cigar smoke, and he could taste dry paper and top of the range scotch at the back of his throat.

Ignoring the multiple no smoking signs posted throughout the bullpen, and the pleas from his personal doctor received less than thirty minutes ago, Jonah dumped a miniature sandstorm of ash into Robbie's waste paper basket and relit another cigar.

"No, I pay you to hammer nail after nail into the coffin of the-menace-who's-name-shall-not-be-spoken-in-this-building-for-the-good-of-my-heart-this-year! And given it just came over the wire some punk with a camera in his iPod or something posted up footage of Electro and that snivelling wall weasel breaking up Macys five minutes ago while you were tying your shoe laces, I'd say--!"

Peter flicked up the freshly developed photos between his face and the bloodshot eyes of the rabid publisher.

"That we'll be able to beat the Globe to deadline in even less?"

He relaxed his hand as Jonah snatched the front photo, the one of Spidey getting his ever loving ass handed to him, and avoided death by paper cut.

"Hot diggety!"

Jameson spread both hands wide, a cosmic maestro moulding music out of the big bang.

"Front page, 9. Font, push Mendelssohn's congressman and escort in Hell's Kitchen scoop back to page 5, but keep his title, it's punchy. We'll use this to feed into our piece in the Pulse, use archive footage to flesh out Jones' and Farrell's pieces, Headline: 'Tidings Of Terror!', alternately 'There is a Santa Clause!'"

Robbie and Peter shared a fortifying smile as he cackled to himself. Peter slung his book bag over his shoulder, remembered what age he was, and slipped the other strap over his other shoulder.

"Don't think you're off the hook yet, Speedy!" Jonah snapped as a gnarled hand clamped around his shoulder and rendered Peter's sweater instantly un-wearable with the smell.

"You were behind on your last two deadlines this October, and if you figure on squeezing me dry by weaselling out of here with that big fat Christmas bonus you've got another thing coming!"

Resisting the burning need to shred his shirt and bare his naked skin to cleansing NY smog, secret identities and public decency be damned, Peter braced himself.

"By rights, your ass should be eating curb for dinner right now, but given your suspiciously near superhuman track record of catching mutants, monsters and aliens with their pants down, you're the best man for the job." Jameson looked shifty for a heartbeat. "And all our regular shutterbugs are outta town. But since you're the one sure fire bet in the building at the moment, Jesus, Joseph and Mary save us all, that just means you gotta spend about a week at least making up for lost time! You'll be brining in superhero related stuff for Urich's Christmas edition of the Pulse we're putting together to try and boost holiday circulation."

"Meta mutant crime and the holiday season." Robbie explained

"But I'm only part time now, and Midtown High hasn't let out yet…"

"It's called the fine print, Parker, and instead of crying about it you should've eaten more carrots! Good for your eyesight. As is you've got ten minutes to get me something interesting by deadline tonight! Now get out there!"

"But it's two in the afternoon…"

"Details, Parker, details! I'm the reporter here, so_ I'll _worry about them! Scram! Rouse! Rouse! Olay!"

Robbie weighed his new pipe in his hands as Peter sighed, and trudged out of the bullpen towards the stairwell.

"The man owes us, Jonah, not doubt about that. But you're being a little harsh don't you think?"

"It's New York, Robbie."

A roar of electricity shrieked past, heading for downtown and blurring the windows with melting frost. Jameson took a drag of his cigar as the lights flickered back on.

"Told ya."

_And Electro on a crime spree_

"C'mere, Webs, I just want to make you all roasty-toasty!"

"Fool me once, Maxi…"

Spider-Man leapt off the billboard for ABC's newest sensation, _Celebrity Ice Sculpting_, as the electricity set it ablaze. He squinted through the snow, found the nearest wall and landed on it, running. Dodging lightning was never easy at the best of times, but a blizzard was the best time for dodging anything in general. The snow screwed up Dillon's eyesight. Not by enough apparently.

The ozone heat seared past his head and between his legs. He felt drenched from melting snow and sweat. The threads were going to chafe tomorrow.

"Careful Electro, some folks don't have thunderbolts and garish tights for the holidays. How about you put the safety deposit boxes back and be grateful for what you have?"

"My heart bleeds, webslinger, but I got some last minute shopping to do!"

"I am sending you a joke book for Christmas. I mean, my God, I bring the A-material and you give me this? For shame, Maxwell, for shame!"

He back flipped off the wall in a shower of exploding Christmas lights, wincing at the desolate screams of traumatized children, and ricocheted off a flagpole. He aimed himself at Electro, a sparking shadow with ionised deposit boxes floating over it. An arc of electricity roared over him, met with a barrage of webbing over crackling hands. He rammed an elbow into Electro's eye, and forced all his weight down through the little troll's shoulders. The blizzard dissolved into snow streaked lines as they plummeted, punching, kicking and insulting to the ground. Pico seconds before delivering the all star knock out punch, he learned an interesting fact about his Spider-Sense: it didn't register safety deposit boxes as a threat. One, then two, then all thirteen banged off his head, sending him flopping in ten different directions, all of them wrong. Electro slipped his suddenly less surly bonds and slapped a hand against a ledge, hanging there by a magnetic charge.

Spidey watched him leave, aware of the burning emptiness of both shooters numbing his wrists and the harsh, Judas flashing of his camera from above.

_And it's only after 3:00..._


	3. Day 3

_On the 3rd day of Christmas my true love gave to me_

_Three grouchy Vultures _

"The Vulturions were an accident, Toomes. You guys? You are a _catastrophe_!"

A green blur was suddenly where his next webline was going to be, and then he was being dragged along with all the security, grace and comfort of a sardine tied behind a speeding motor boat. He spread his legs wide to avoid being castrated on the spire of the Trask building, and dropped from the line to land directly in the face of the other guy in the flying suit, slamming his thighs tight together around the man's head so hard he almost dropped the attaché case that flailed like a brutalized leather flag in the near escape velocity winds.

Close to, these guys were just wearing patched up Vulturion armour painted military green and tricked out with the latest version of Toomes' magnetic harness. Clearly freelance, which explained why the Vulture had been circling him and his partner like a crazed animal since Peter started chasing them through midtown. Toomes', for his part, was wearing the thermal version of his costume, a darker green body suit with a larger harness backpack to provide more power and heat, sturdier wings to cope with the wind, and a furrier ruff that could be pulled up like a parka hood to keep his ears warm. Peter knew this because one of those wings waked him in the side and dragged him up into the Vulture's grip. He'd have been glad of the heat from the old man's increased magnetic field if it hadn't been trying to pry his hands off his throat. Toomes glared at him from behind the special contact lenses he'd developed to protect his eyes from the wind chill.

"Stay out of this Arachnid! This has nothing to do with you!"

He leant back to avoid the clawing fingers, crossing both hands to grab the old man's wrists and forcing them as far back as he could. The important thing to remember about fighting fliers was that arms, particularly for the manufactured method, were the primary way to steer. The Vulture's wings kept them aloft but his momentum flickered and gutted like a sugar filled engine. Peter took advantage of it by kicking him in the gut.

"Was that before or after Larry and Curly almost knocked that kid and her grandmother over ripping off that armoured car?"

Toomes rallied, the surprising head butt so solid he was sure it left age line shaped bruises through the mask. Gnarled hands seized his shirt front and they looped around the block at whip cracking speed, aimed at the side of the oncoming office block like an art deco Polaris missile

"I'll make you regret the day you were born you little inbreed!"

"The only thing I'm regretting right now is the mix of new car and Old Spice!"

He brought a knee up into Toomes' (glass) jaw, and flung him in the direction of the nearest rooftop, praying the old coot wouldn't hit his camera as he swan dived towards the third guy in the other suit, the webline still trailing from his boot. Spidey grabbed it as he fell past, almost tugging them out of the air. The man yelped and corkscrewed, arcing himself and his passenger higher into the sky before gravity took over and sent Peter cannonballing towards the ground. Windows, snow and lights streamed in through his lenses, reducing the world inside his mask to a claustrophobic drab and multicoloured tunnel. And then his Spider-Sense stretched reality back into focus and he was twisting like a spastic leaf to avoid becoming a chunk of meat smeared on somebody's windshield. The jackass at the controls froze suddenly, throwing him back into the higher altitudes as the webline rose. He let go at the apex of the swing, landing spread-eagled on the face of the high-rise across the street, spinning around like an overturned crab to glare at the faux-Vulture.

"Gonna bag me a spider!"

Thrusting the pressure of a fire hose into his bent legs Peter erupted off the wall, barrel rolled over the charging idiot's head, and fired twin weblines behind his back. He slapped his feet into the wall in front of him, felt the strands tighten in his hands and yanked.

"And a bird in the hand is worth two in the face."

He leapt to the lower window just under him, covering his head at the expected shower of glass. A quick leap to check the guy was actually unconscious on top of that conference table, and he was on the roof, looking for his next target.

There, about a block away. Two green blurs circling each other, one flailing it's arms to try and bat Toomes away, screwing up the directions of his wings. He launched himself across the caesium between buildings and swung between them, kicking out at both of them.

"It's always so sad when family breaks up at Christmas, don't you think fellas?"

He snatched the briefcase by the handle so quickly he almost dislocated his wrist, watching the other copy cat vanish painfully through a skylight, before gravity screamed at him to stop screwing around up there and come down _at once_! Toomes' got there first and he was suddenly struggling to keep those spindly empty sack fingers away from his throat, his mouth full of feathers and his ears full of that Robert Engelhard snarl.

"Give me that you cretin!"

"Get yer own! And a new personality while you're at it!"

That turned out to be a mistake at over a hundred feet above street level.

With a roar like an arthritic mountain lion, Toomes hurled him into gravity's mercy.

He tore through a black tarp, dragging it with him as he hit a steel girder stomach first, toppling to a lower level but managing to land on his feet. He tried to hold his churning stomach in with his free hand, looking around. The building had been damaged in a fight with the Avengers, alien invasion or something, and this part of the roof had been under renovation for a couple of days before the storm hit and work stopped. Stark winter light filtered through the girders and loosed construction cables snapped in the wind.

"Yeah, if the Ghost Of Christmas Broken Ribs wants to step in anytime…"

Spider-Sense!

He spun and ducked at the same time he brought up the case, slamming it off Toomes' jaw and breaking it apart. The handle slipped from his grasp, spinning away as the case broke into two halves, the top whirling into the air and the bottom clattering to the floor and skidding precariously along the edge of the shattered floor.

He dived at the green streak at the same time he fired off a webline with what was left of his right web shooter. He snagged the case. Toomes, not so much.

Elderly hands snatched the top's handle, and his ears were full of the old man's laughter as he skidded face first into a girder. He aimed, felt the empty rattle of the completely empty left shooter, and settled for waving a fist at the retreating shadow as it vanished from sight.

"Ah, go ahead and laugh! You're gonna feel _pretty_ stupid when you figure out I got the part with the prize inside."

He tore out a section of that useless black styrofoam padding stuff they always filled these things with, and turned whatever was in there over for inspection.

He almost burst out laughing.

The star destined for the top of the Christmas tree in Times Square glinted in his hands.

_Two waiting journalists_

"Seasons greetings compliments of Your Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Man."

Robbie smiled as he held the photos up to the light. A group of confused cops looked up at the note spun out of webbing above the ornate golden star left in the middle of the floor. Peter nodded proudly.

"Stark Enterprises threw that thing together out of beta testing on their electromagnetic environmental preservation project. It'll record environmental data for all the time it's up there, and at the end of the year they'll see if it helped maintain or improve the standard of the tree or the air around it. The military applications you could reverse engineer out of the thing are in the triple digits, and apparently someone was willing to pay top dollar for the Vulture and his aerobics class to try and make off with it."

That someone was probably Wilson Fisk, having lost a major PR opportunity when Stark announced the idea, but good luck proving it.

"It's good," Robbie said, and Peter braced himself with experienced resignation ",it'll even make a nice piece of reporting since Stark's people just officially released their press packet for the thing, but I'm afraid it's not Pulse material, Peter. What the Avengers are doing about the homeless this year is Pulse material-don't tell Jonah I said that-but I can give you the standard fee for a front page special."

Peter nodded as they began filling out the paperwork, pausing as Jameson lent a critical eye over the photos by leaning over his shoulder to look at them with subtleness he'd probably picked up from President Johnson.

"You couldn't get _one _shot of that menace making off with the goods?"

Peter tried to keep his poker face on and ignore the sandpaper feeling still ringing in his forehead.

"Sorry JJ. He outsmarted me again."

"Sometimes I wonder why I pay you Parker, I really do."

"Out of the goodness of your heart, Jonah. The goodness of your heart."

Jameson snorted something on it's way to becoming pure methane out through his nostrils as he pulled his cigar out of his mouth to smirk with pride.

"Oh yeah!"

"Could I have a minute to administer some of that goodness?" Robbie asked, not impolitely. "And we're using these two for the front page. The police finding the star because we can tie into the actual story we've scheduled for the front page and replace the stock image Stark gave us in the press packet, and Spider-Man hitting the Vulture in the face with it because it'll get people's attention. Erickson already wrote up her copy and finalized everything including a fittingly scathing review of the high maintenance security detail. All of which I approved and, with an hour until deadline, I really don't think we'll have time to try and run one of our patented objective Spider-Man headlines."

Muttering his own secret version of Esperanto, Jameson snatched the selected photos and stomped off across the bullpen to find something else to yell at.

"And that should be that." Robbie paused halfway through pushing the half filled in release forms across the desk. "Unless there's anything else…?"

Peter nodded, staring past at the guttering skyscraper lights behind Robbie's left ear.

"I figure I just found myself some Pulse material."

_And Electro on a crime spree_

Be careful, Robbie had said. And Peter had tried. Honest.

That had been before Electro turned out to be siphoning power from WNYC's new radio tower. Trying to fight a living dynamo in mid air was suicidal. Trying to fight a living dynamo supercharging himself on a wet roof was just--

A blast lanced up and down his spine, launching his white hot body through the comet cold railings. Streams of windows screamed through his boiling eyeballs as he tried to aim his fall instead of simply flailing, trying to line up his wrists with an incoming flagpole before he snapped into a row of Christmas lights that bit and boomed around him. The word _Precipitated _buzz sawed through his brain and then whip cracked it's way back out as the tangling rows of lights, who weren't going to put up with this sort of thing, flung him through the skylight of…well, he'd find out in a minute.

He crashed into a display case of unidentifiable little something's that hurt his back more than the glass would have. And did.

A cackling streak of lightning zipped facetiously past the window. He thought he saw a sneer through the light.

"Strike three! Merry freaking Christmas ya geek!"

He made a note of the store and it's price tags for after he got back from the Bugle. That vase had Aunt May's name written all over it. Obscured by the half price tag, admittedly, but still.


	4. Day 4

_On the 4th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me_

_Four broken knuckle_s

"You just had to come back today, didn't you?"

Peter threw himself backwards as the glass and concrete under him shattered. He let gravity do the rest of the work and cannonballed down into the parking lot. Screaming Christmas shoppers fled as Venom crashed landed in front of him, backhanding him about a mile across the allotment.

_**"DoN't Be ThAt WaY pArKeR, wE mIsSeD yOu!"**_

Peter focused on slumping against the front of the dented Volvo and trying to figure out if his jaw was broken or not. Gargan had been faster and stronger than him before the symbiote. Now it was like fighting the Black Tarantula all over again.

The tail snapped around his waist and he was suddenly breathing in the raw gasoline breath of the symbiote. Upside down.

_**"BeSiDeS, i DoN't KnOw WhAt YoUr CoMpLaInInG aBoUt. i JuSt GoT mY cHrIsTmAs BoNuS aXeD bEcAuSe MoOn KnIgHt GoT mY mOb TaRgEt InTo WiTnEsS pRoTeCtIoN bEfOrE i CoUlD fInIsH tHe JoB!"**_

The tongue lashed against his mask and almost up his left nostril, leaving an after taste of battery acid mixed with bleach, and then everything blurred as he crashed into the asphalt.

_**"GoD, i'M pRoBaBlY mAkInG yOu A mIlLiOn DoLlArS iN nEwS pHoToS rIgHt NoW, yOu LiTtLe SnOt!"**_

He came soaring back up, desperately trying to fire off a web line before slamming into the other side. He felt it connect and yanked hard as he began to rise again. Venom half turned, following the line, before the Volvo thundered into his sternum. Peter tried to roll with the impact as the sound of breaking steel faded away.

"Your friendly neighbourhood webline: leave the driving to us."

_Plan. Plan. Need a plan…_

Questing lenses locked on a fuse box on the other side of a chain-link fence, and he started running. He dodged the first batch of tendrils as they burst out of the asphalt, but felt the insane pressure of the second bunch tighten around his angle. His cheek screamed as he was slashed across the ground, his chest joining in as Venom reeled him in at near break neck speed, almost liquefied his face with a double fisted backhand, and ended with his shoulder blades performing a duet as he crashed through the fence and jolted off the fuse box and into the ground. The dirty green panel broke free of it's hinges and banged off his back, and he felt the cold air stab through the suit and set his wounds on very wet fire. This hadn't gotten any better since the fight had started on the other side of town, and he felt the map of devastation carved across the rooftops etched into his almost broken ribs.

Letting out a breath that felt coated with something, Peter pulled himself to his feet, gripping tightly to the two main power couplings.

The peace shattered like bone as Gargan's tail whip cracked around his neck and tore him into a world of terrible fluorescent lightning and red rimmed agony, trailing the two cables idiotically from his hands. He fought the urge to be sick in the symbiote's face as it drew back from a head butt he hadn't realised it had given him until the pain hit. Not that he didn't _want_ to be sick down that stupid mouth, it just would have helped if the mask hadn't been in the way.

_**"MeRrY cHrIsTmAs, PaRkEr. WE'lL tAkE gOoD cArE oF Mj AnD mAy…"**_

That did it. He leant back, felt something almost explode inside his spine, and rammed both cables into the creature's eyes.

The scream vanished under the force of the entire department store's power funnelling through what may as well have been a piece of liquorice with a meaty centre. Fire clung and died on the costume as he was thrown clear, bouncing across rubble and metal and light and feeling the soul screaming of the symbiote deep in his spine. And the result, after what a thunderstorm breaking the sound barrier at close rage must have felt like, was a heat haze spewing crater in the middle of the ground. Peter stood up slowly, pin pricks of static itching across his costume, letting the city noises leach back in through the gashes in his mask.

"Merry Christmas, Gargan…"

He hesitated as a slouching shadow fell over him.

"You've _gotta_ be kidding."

Skin shifting and dripping like the output of a defective sewer pipe, Venom reached out towards his face with trembling talons.

"Pa_**RkEr**_R_**r**_-R-r-r_**gh**_h…"

Spider-Man thought, made a decision to try out a theory of his, and pulled back a fist, ramming it into the symbiote's mouth like a speeding bullet. His theory proved correct; Gargan's head was hidden behind the meat of the symbiote's throat. Gargan and Venom stared at him, one head inside another, before flopping to the ground, the symbiote evaporating to a blood like stretch of flesh on Gargan's chest. Spidey struck his best Superman pose.

"And once again, good triumphs over evil because evil-"

His voice rose to glass breaking pitch, clutching his right hand.

"- has a _really _hard chin!!!"

_Three grouchy Vultures _

"Watch the hands, watch the hands!"

He flipped right over, somehow managing to avoid all three green spears in mid air and land on the corner of city hall. The force squelched up his arm more firmly than usual and his foot slipped on a window pane. The rest of him slid, his hand stayed where it was.

"Oh perfect…"

He'd made the mistake of covering his hand in webbing, not wrapping up or tying off, covering, and now his palm was competing with his ringing knuckles by freezing itself to death against cold concrete. It was even more displeased with this state of affairs than he was. Because it was stuck there.

Peter spun around as his Spider-Sense fared, ramming a boot into the oncoming Vulture's face. He winced in near sympathy as the punk crashed into the steps of city hall and tumbled all the way down.

Toomes' dancing partner kicked the old man away and lunged sideways as wave of bullets roared past them. The security team had gotten over the initial shock and were taking up positions between the target's car.

"Screw it! I'm outta here!"

The remaining wannabe vanished into the air. Toomes let out a sound that would have cowed large mammals in the dark days before pre-history and took chase. By the time the security teams had gotten it together and started towards City Hall, the downed Vulture was gone. Frustrated, they aimed for the wall and the only remaining target.

Except he wasn't there anymore.

And he'd taken a chunk of the wall with him.

_Two waiting journalists_

"I want Ramirez to stick to the mayor like cellulite on Oliver Hardy! If the birds and the bug are after a dedicated family man and former congressman with a 40 % approval ratings in all key demographics and constituents, then it must be for something pretty damn juicy!"

Peter groaned.

"And what's the matter with you, Parker?"

"Just getting into the holiday spirit, Jonah."

Peter stopped rubbing his knuckles because that was a silly thing to do with an almost broken hand.

"Holiday love hurts."

_And Electro on a crime spree_

"All things considered, I think this is the best Christmas present ever."

Mary Jane's grinned widened at May's disapproving frown.

"Oh come on, Aunt May."

"Well dear, you know I do try to be supportive of Peter's…other job and everything, but do you really think it's responsible to go around defacing landmark's like that?"

"Captain America's done it." MJ said coyly. She tapped idely at the chunk of rubble sitting on the counter. The other side had a nice, if now slightly water marked, wallpapper that she wanted to look for. She was even thinking of making a little display case for it.

The old woman smiled. "Touché, dear. Tea?"

"Thanks but Peter's taking me out to this press dinner the Bugle's throwing before everyone starts packing up for the holidays. I just stopped by to catch up and drop off some shopping we got for you before heading back home. It's being held up at Radio City and everyone's taking time out to look really…fancy."

She slowed, looking past May. The old woman turned, frowned at the TV, then hesitated.

"Oh my."

"Can we turn that up?"

"Certainly, dear."

The picture on screen was blurry with snow and shaky camera work, but MJ would get the chance to see much clearer footage of Electro blasting off across the city much later as the story circulated. In high def. With commentary from her husband.

"…_today's top story, police still have no leads on what precisely occurred between superhuman community members Spider-Man and Electro at the Radio City building, but reporters have confirmed that the award for outstanding journalism was stolen from the building's lobby display. The award was going to be the centre piece in an award dinner hosted by newspaper publisher J. Jonah Jameson."_

The image changed. If not for the blue and red the figure dancingly irately on screen could have been the Jolly One himself.

"_While it's been established the award was indeed stolen, it remains unclear who by. Spider-Man is wanted for questioning in the incident. When asked for comment, Mr Jameson responded--"_

"I think I will have that tea, May." MJ shut off the set. "And maybe some wheat cakes and meatloaf. I've got the feeling Peter's going to need them."


	5. Day 5

_On the 5th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me_

_Five Hypnotists _

"So let me get this straight…"

Detective Paul Lamont took a swig of cardboard coffee in a styrofoam cup, regretted there was nothing alcoholic in it, and pressed on.

"This guy…"

"The Hypno Hustler, yeah."

"His thing's fast acting posthypnotic suggestion through music, right?"

"It's _instantaneous_ suggestion, and it seems to be more of a lifestyle choice than a thing, but pretty much. Yes."

"Uh huh."

Lamont ran an eye over the row of indignant, white jump suited protestors suspended from a web sack under a Lion King marquee. The second officer in as many minutes was already making a brave attempt against the winds to climb the rocking step ladder, and rescue the first, sandwiched between the third and fourth captive and only held there by his stuck hands.

"So now this guy's come outta retirement to…" he checked his notebook. "…brainwash various members of the local acting community into holding up box offices all over the city. When just about every theatre in town is booked."

Spider-Man scratched the back of his head, squatting on the alley fire escape.

"That's about the size of it."

Across the street, the second officer cried out as the first's kicking leg struck the ladder and sent him crashing into the third.

Lamont sighed.

"Broadway. You've gotta love it."

_Four broken knuckles _

Midtown High had changed a lot since Peter's time. And naturally not at all as well. The windows were bleached the colour and texture of somebody's nails, crystalline in the frost and somehow managing to sponge some oil painting beauty into the grey surrounding buildings outside. The corridors felt like an old hospital, sterilized just as the rust set in and seconds before the paint dried. The fenced off grounds were fat with snow. The hospital room floor of Dr. Warren's class room was scuffed and scratched from many more classes than Peter's, but the effort had been made. The gum had been surgically removed and the dust cleaned up.

"Mr Parker?"

Peter looked up out of the drowse he'd been floating into.

"Why are we watching this?"

"Last day of school, Jennifer. As per the ancient charter of the American teachers guild, we're taking the day off. Hence watching…"

He craned over in his chair to look at the video tape box.

"…_Titanic_. Huh."

He lent back. Jennifer would not be deterred.

"You couldn't pick something even moderately less cheesy than this?"

"What do you want from me? It's got Leonardo DiCaprio in it."

"Whatever floats your boat mister Parker."

_These inner city kids. And to think I developed all my smart assery based off Groucho Marx._

"I could put on this biology video narrated by Tim Curry."

"Leonardo DiCaprio you say…"

Peter raised a clenched fist. His hand actually felt better.

"Solidarity."

Weisman popped his head around the door.

"Mr Parker? A word?"

"I'm feeling generous. Take fifteen."

He gave one of those meaningless waves to the class and stepped out into the hall, closing the door even though there was no point.

"What can I do you for, Greg?"

The vice principle was biting his lip. This was gonna hurt.

"You remember when you covered Marsh's biology class a few weeks ago?"

Peter nodded.

"How is Barney anyway? What'd he have, stomach flue?"

"He's dead Peter."

Silence crashed around them while Peter fought for anything to say other than _oh_.

"Ah."

"Yeah. We got the call from his wife last night, but his stuff still needs marking, and since you were the last guy to handle anything remotely close to his class we were wondering…"

"…if I'd take care of it over the holidays?"

"You'd be doing us a big favour."

A vision of Uncle Ben snapped through Peter's head. "Sure." someone with his exact voice said. Curses.

"Thanks."

Greg passed him the folder he'd been carrying. The large folder. The one that was difficult to lift even with Spider-Strength. Peter took a deep breath as Greg left, looking through the stained glass of the door plate at his class. His one class of twenty students. His one class of five. Just for biology. Each with five page essays for each subject.

He looked down at the papers and felt his right hand go dead.

_Oh dear sweet and merciful God…_

He thought about it.

_Maybe not so merciful…_

_Three grouchy Vultures _

"INCOMING!"

The clerk glanced up, did a double take and threw himself out of the booth. Naturally this didn't help Peter at all. Vulture (the real one) hurled him through the roof of the booth, the impact of the collapse knocking over red display ropes and scattering tourists. Today was not a good day to be visiting the Empire State Building.

"One night! Can I not have one night free of your miserable interference!?"

Spider-Man's foot shot out of the wreckage, hitting Toomes in the gut and forcing him back.

"You asked that about a hundred feet over Battery Park, Adrian. The answers still no."

He straightened up, backing out of the wreckage as Vulture did the same, one eying the other wearily.

"For God's sake man, it's almost Christmas!"

"Bah!"

"You're breaking my little Spider heart. Here's a novel idea, how about instead of trying to kill each other we put our differences aside and set a good example for all the little orphan children by teaming up and stopping those wannabe Vultures? You can stab me in the back after we've locked them all up."

He rolled under the swinging blades of an angry wing, missing decapitation by inches.

"Just a thought."

The Vulture tackled him, throwing them both through a solid marble reception desk. Spidey kicked him off, leaping across the room and almost slipping on the wet floor. Snow poured into the room from the broken window, melting under his feet and almost freezing his spine off as it slapped against his back.

"I'm serious old man, you obviously know where and when these guys are showing up. I want them out of the skies and off the streets, you want your image back."

"If not for you I'd have caught those two usurpers when they tried to steal those government documents! You really think I'd work with you after something like that!?"

Spider-Sense flared up as the Vulture rose a couple of inches off the floor. Not enough room to move with any real finesse here, but he'd have even less, right? So use that.

A webline smacked into the red ropes behind Toomes and smashed and into his wings, pinning him to the floor. Peter fired what little was left of his webbing over the floor, tangling him up even further.

"Okay, government documents. How deep does this go, Toomes? Talk!"

"Bah!"

"Listen you old--"

Spider-Sense!

He was already moving before one of the other two Vultures hurtled over head and pulled the trigger. He was already on the other side of the room when the bullets came down. Toomes, covered in his webbing, wasn't.

By the time the police chopper arrived, all that was left was a bleeding old man covered in snow…and webbing.

_Two waiting journalists_

"Burkland, what in the hell is that supposed to be!?"

The intern froze like an epileptic baby deer in a monster truck's headlights. Peter gave him a sympathetic squint over Jonah's shoulder. Burkland pointed a trembling hand at the pineapple sized plastic tree in his other hand.

"I-I-I-I-it's just a mini Christmas tree, Mr Jameson, sir."

"Son, that's not a Christmas tree, that's a lawn gnome's hat! Around here, we celebrate Christmas the traditional way! My God, this is still America, right? Don't even try to answer that! Soon as you get out after getting your paycheque, you're going down to the nearest store and getting us a real tree just like mamma used to make for all of us to decorate, with milk and cookies and everything!"

The intern grinned.

"Out of your own paycheque, of course."

The intern frowned.

"But…I'm not paid Mr Jameson…sir…"

"Then you better serve a few out of work beatniks a little more coffee during the weekend. Now get back to work!"

Peter winced as Burkland scurried to relative safety. Jameson held the photo

"Now. Pulse material. Front page stuff. Evidence of the webbed menace going to far. Probably double dealing with Electro behind the old man's back. Put this together with the X-Men fight with S.H.I.E.L.D Rockefeller Ice Skating Rink and we've got a good first two pages. However."

He flapped it so fast in front of Peter's face he almost tore the sound barrier in half.

"If not for the oddly appropriate red and green of the bleeding body the webslinger left in his wake, what our readers are mostly gonna get is snow, snow, SNOW!"

Peter shrugged.

"I was thinking of heading out to Manhattan General and getting a couple of pictures there." Peter stared back levelly. "Free of charge of course. You've still got to pay me for some of those Electro and Broadway pictures. And then there's the little conflict of ethics over whether or not I actually should go up there to take pictures of a dying man."

"Don't get smart with me, Parker." Jonah spun him towards the elevator doors. "If you're getting smart that means you're tired, and if you're tired yer gonna be dumb. Go sleep it off and stop wasting my time. We'll talk about-" His lips tightened slightly. "-pay later."

Robbie smirked at what he'd seen behind Jonah's eyes that Peter hadn't as he stormed off to a waiting wife and bed.

"You're a regular Scrooge, Jonah."

Jameson rolled his eyes and sighed, propelling a cloud of cigar smoke across the room.

"Before or after the three ghosts?"

He shook his head.

"You try and get me with that same damn joke every year and it wasn't funny when it was new."

Robbie shrugged.

"It's a tradition."

"Yeah, but so's finding Fran Cushing and her latest boy toy naked and unconscious on top of the photocopier after New Year's. Doesn't mean I wanna hear about it _every_ year."

_And Electro on a crime spree_

"Okay, so this Hypno thing is bad enough, but the lead the Bugle sent you after was just Electro screwing with the media to screw with you."

Peter tensed slightly as MJ's fingers massaged a sore are

"That's about it."

"So you spent an hour swinging around the Bowery looking for him while he robbed the diamond exchange."

"Yep."

"And you feel pretty crappy because it'd be bad enough just throwing a regular Christmas together, but Electro pulling this many crimes of five times in a row is pissing you off and you think you ought to be more concerned about the people he's stealing from."

"Mhm."

"Anyone get hurt while you weren't there?"

Peter hesitated.

"No."

"Then you don't blame yourself for any of it, got it?"

Peter smiled, rolling over to embrace her.

"Got it."


	6. Day 6

_On the 6th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me _

_Six villains scheming _

"The ladies are gonna love it!"

"Rhino, Black Vulcan has more sex appeal than you do, and nobody even knows who he is!"

Spider-Man leapt aside as the monster truck crashed down where he'd been standing, flipping over the road and ploughing through the windows of an abandoned 7/11. He glanced back up at the tell-tale tingling and rolled as grey arms hands the size of car tires slammed into the snow.

"Now look what ya made me do!"

"Rhino…in all seriousness…a monster truck?"

He leapt, springing off the armoured back as multiple boomerangs sliced into the ground behind him. He took aim at Myers, crouched on the roof of a mini van, before a vice faster than his Spider-Sense snapped around his ankle and he was blurring across the air, his head thundering.

"Going once!"

The pain roared up his back as a row of display windows shattered behind him.

"Going twice!"

His jaw almost broke loose as he crashed through a bench and then--

"Sold!" Speed Demon crowed as he hurled Spider-Man into a street light. Peter grabbed it, sticking like his hand had fused with the metal itself, and bit down as his leg was almost torn off. It had the desired effect though.

Unable to move his victim, Speed Demon yelped as his hand almost shredded the material of Spidey's boot, throwing him off balance and pitching him chin first into the ground. Free, Spidey slumped against the light for a few, blessed, cooling seconds, before his Spider-Sense flared again. It was a familiar, obnoxious tingle he got whenever dealing with one of _those_ villains.

He ducked, firing off a web line as the Kangaroo hurtled over him. The line slapped against the goofball's armoured back, yanking him out of the fumbled kick and slamming him into the pole. A mass of webbing trapped him there.

"Aww, for fu--!"

Hibbs' mouth clamped shut as a pair if whirling boomerangs almost scythed off his lower lips. Spider-Man had already been moving. A glob of impact webbing glued Boomerang's left arm to his side, sending multiple blades clattering across the lot. He staggered back, collapsing on top of Speed Demon. Satisfied, Spidey hopped up onto the dealership's marquee.

Kangaroo was down, Boomerang and Speed Demon were tangled up in each other, and Rhino was in the corner throwing up. Apparently those beers were catching up.

_Thank God Urich handed the tip about these guys getting together off to me. This is gold. Knew it'd pay of to wait for half of them to get too drunk while they were casing this place…for monster trucks. Apparently. Yuck. _

He checked out the small dot of his camera almost invisible against the snow, almost pitching off the marquee as his arms almost shot right up his shoulders, the metal band around his chest constricting so hard it almost pulled his shirt out of his belt. He stared down as the Ringer broke out into a YouTube worthy victory dance.

"Gotcha!"

"Yeah, laugh now frat boy." Spidey strained against the tightening steal. This was a lot more difficult in the snow…"Let me fill you in on protocol here; one of you idiots thinks this is a good idea, drags the rest of you out of bed to steal the Maltese Falcon or something, then I put you in jail." He almost slipped off his perch. "Just give me a minute here…"

"Yeah?" Kangaroo struggled defiantly in his web sack. "Seeing as how we're kicking your ass so much, looks like we got a new Sinister Six on our hands!"

"Uh, heads up Kanga, but there's five of you."

"That a fact?"

Speed Demon had to have given him the idea. He must have. There was no way Hydro Man would be smart enough to disperse himself into the air and start reassembling himself using the snow to form an air borne tidal wave that was roaring right towards Peter's perch.

_Okay…estimate of the amount of moisture in the air, plus density of water multiplied by Newton's first law and survey says…this is gonna hurt._

_Five hypnotists_

Marina Caches winced as Mary Jane slammed her bags down on the Formica table top

"Rough day?"

"I wish. Weirdo day." MJ pushed her damp hair out of her eyes, deciding to give it a moment before ordering a coffee from the terrified waitress

"I was late for rehearsal because of this Hypno Hustler crap. Blocked my cab on the way to the theatre. Thank God for the New Warriors or Iron Fist, or whoever. I'm thinking of dropping out anyway."

"Oh come on!" Marina pushed her cheese cake aside.

"I didn't feel it in the auditions…"

"Aww, you didn't feel it. What does that mean exactly? Why did you go anyway? Every where's booked. I told you not to go and get the headache."

"Yeah, you did." MJ tapped her finger off the salt shaker irritably. "But we could use the money."

"You don't want Peter's aunt doing all the work this year."

MJ balled up her sugar wrapper and flicked it into Marina's wrist.

"Hate you."

"I know you do honey." They savoured the warmth of their drinks. "So how's Peter?"

"If I know him?" MJ winced, nursing a phantom migraine. "Probably having a worse day than me."

_Four broken knuckles _

"Is he alive?"

"Glub."

"Whadidhesay?"

"That means yes. Could someone lift up my mask?"

One paramedic glanced to the other, hesitantly lifting the mask halfway over the hero's nose. Spider-Man gargled like a stalling engine, then spat a jet of water into the air that almost froze.

"Thanks. You mind backing up there?"

He strained against the ring and the support beam pining him to the spine snappingly cold ground. Ice cracked and slithered off steel as he fought like an enraged bull.

_Frozen Hydro Man and the Ringer. Please tell me this is not the new 10 ton weight on my back. _

Eventually he erupted upright out of the wreckage, stumbling backwards and almost falling over from the suddenness of being vertical again. He accepted the steadying hands of the paramedics, checking out the devastated street. He had a vague impression of Hydro Man making the "Oh shi--" face in the Spider-Sense seconds before impact, so that probably accounted for why the Syndicate hadn't finished him off while he was out. Probably run for it. At leas the Kangaroo was still stuck up that street light. One of the paramedics was looking hesitantly at him.

"You doing okay? Only we got a couple of reports of flooded basements and some shop entrances iced over."

"I might not talk as much as Deadpool, but I don't heal too slow. Just let me check--"

He let the inevitable sneeze happen.

"--'scuse me…just let me check my ribs haven't frozen and I'll help you start pulling people out."

They nodded, one patting him on the back as he let against a decent sized piece of rubble, clearing his lungs.

_Spine?_

_Present and accounted for chief._

_Don't call me chief. Ribs?_

_Doin' a-okay!_

_Sinuses?_

_Phasers set to cold, Captain! Requesting permission to turn to full blown flue._

_Denied._

_You sure, sir?_

_Oh what the hell._

He sneezed, then frowned suspiciously as the cold vaguely numbed a ringing sensation in his hand he knew was going to kill him later.

_Knuckles?_

_Oh, we are on fire Spidey. We are on fire._

_Three grouchy Vultures _

The snow had stopped falling by the time the nurse finished her smoke break, jabbing out her cigarette on a snowflake (a handy trick her grandfather had taught her) and heading back upstairs. She nodded to the unresponsive armed guard as she reached the Code God ward.

"Overtime's a bitch, huh?"

Nothing. She pushed the doors open, passing various steel reinforced rooms until she came to Toomes, Adrian, entering.

Her scream almost made the cops outside drop their guns and sent a startled Toomes bolt right.

"What the hell, woman!?"

He sagged over at the pain. They'd patched him up pretty good, good enough that moving too fast would be a bad idea for a long time, even after the trial. Then he saw the web cage swinging in the wind outside his window. The two unconscious impostors inside. The two armed impostors.

He lay back in bed a groaned.

"Now I owe him one. You!"

He pointed at the trembling nurse so fast both guards almost blew his finger off.

"I will steal you anything you please if you bring me enough pills to keep me under until way past New Year _right now_!"

_Two waiting journalists_

"Parker!"

Frost almost slipped off the window pains. Robbie held back a chuckle as younger employees flinched, while the more experienced casually slipped various clutter that had vibrated across their desks back into place. Jameson stormed up to his desk.

"Where is that filthy traitor!? News is something happened over St Luke's just outside the Vulture's room, and the Globe editors just called me to rub their new exclusive in my face! We have _nothing_ for a front page, and that incompetent ingrate's going to have nothing either if I find him!"

Robbie swilled his monitor around for Johan to see.

"He said he was busy-at least I think he did, there was a lot of static over the phone-but I'm sure these shots of what most people are pretty sure is the new Sinister Syndicate he emailed about eight minutes ago more than make up for it."

Despite the hunger in his eyes Jameson still managed to push past it and lend a critical eye. It was surprisingly easy. He pointed at a JPEG of Spider-Man working alongside (hiding in plain sight among the valiant) rescue workers (of this fair city).

"We've gotta tell the guy to get a new camera! That blasted web slinger looks like he's got _ice_ growing on him! And what in the hell is that supposed be?"

"I think it's a monster tuck, Jonah."

"Gotta get him a new sense of taste too…"

_And Electro on a crime spree_

"Oak trees!"

Mary Jane winced as her ear drums almost burst. She ran a hand under the bath water, found it slightly too hot and gave it a short blast from the cold tap.

"A thousand Christmas tree sales in all five boroughs, and I take on the guy with lightning _in his hands _in the _one_ allotment in all of New York that grows right next to a handful of genuine oak trees! In New York!"

She smiled despite herself, squinting against the steam.

"Baths almost ready, hon."

Peter slouched into the bathroom, putting down a heavy Wall Mart bag to start pulling off his shirt, then realised it probably would have been smarter to take his mask off first and did so.

"Thanks. I'm sorry to bitch so much MJ, but that's…"

He did some mental arithmetic.

"Head's still sore, I dunno, but I think that's eight times in a row!"


End file.
